


Just this once

by all-of-the-ships-are-sailing (Phandom_Doodles)



Category: The Pacific (TV)
Genre: Drinking, Hand Jobs, M/M, One-Sided Attraction, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-04
Packaged: 2019-11-09 06:40:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17996831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phandom_Doodles/pseuds/all-of-the-ships-are-sailing
Summary: Snafu and Burgie are both a little too drunk. Bad decisions are far too easy to make when you’re drunk.





	Just this once

**Author's Note:**

> A short one shot from a previous kinktober that I’m moving over from tumblr. Enjoy!!

Alcohol ain’t an easy thing to get hold of around here. So when they do, the guys go mad for it. Burgin doesn’t.

Burgin. The one who can always be trusted to stay reliable. The one who looks out for everyone else.

So when he’s stumbling back towards one of the tents, with a rather inebriated Cajun hanging off him, he scolds himself for giving in for once. Just this once. Snafu always got handsy when he was drunk but it was always more with Burgin. The kid’s got a soft spot for him. He knows it. He’s pretty sure some of the other boots are starting to pick up on it. The reason why he’s always so careful. The kid’s a live wire and one wrong move could be catastrophic.

So when Snafu makes his advances, Burgin is gentle with his efforts to keep him at bay. After all, if he can keep him sweet enough to behave for him, it’s only going to be a bonus but he’s also not here to play with anyone’s feelings and Snafu knows that Burgin doesn’t reciprocate the feelings. He has made it clear enough times. But this don’t stop the much too enthusiastic kid from trying.

And when Burgin drops Snafu to onto his bunk, he has every intention of turning and leaving. But then Snafu asks to speak to him and something goes off in his head that tells him to reject him. But a bigger part of his mind reasons that it may be something important and his natural instinct to take care overtakes all other thoughts and he drops down to sit on the bunk. And when he does, Snafu shifts to sit next to him.

And when Snafu’s thigh touches his, when his lips are a little too close to his ear as he speaks, Burgin knows where this is going, this not being the first time that Snafu has tried this and he should put an end to it now. The excitable little scoundrel from Louisiana never did know where to draw the line, which is why he had always taken it upon himself to BE that line.

But it has been a long time, and the boy is so willing and just that moments hesitation is all it takes for Snafu to slide a hand onto his thigh. He does it in a way that only Snafu could and makes it feel like such a natural movement, that even Burgin wonders for a moment, if maybe he’s just reading too much. If his alcohol addled brain is just playing with him. But then that hand slips closer to home and the theory flutters away along with the rest of his semi-coherent thoughts.

“Snafu-” A warm exhale onto his ear loses him his weak attempt to rectify the situation before it becomes something much more. Snafu’s hand is far too close, fingers squeezing against his sensitive inner thigh and he unconsciously parts his leg to feel more of it.

“Don’t gotta be any more than what it is.” Snafu pitches to him. “Don’t gotta mean a damn thing.”

“It’s not right.” Burgin tries to reason, with Snafu or himself he’s not sure. He feels lips brush against his ear and he fights with every ounce of resolve he has not to lean into it. The lips quirk into a smile.

“What’s right isn’t always best, Burgie.” He feels the whispered words against his ear, seducing his skin. The pressure leaves his inner thigh and he hears the sound of metal and fabric as the fingers play at his fastenings. Snafu hushes him before he can startle and kisses his ear so lightly, he could probably deny it if Burgin were to call him out on it. 

“Snafu.” He warns again when the hand starts to curl around and into the heat of his dungarees but his laboured breathing betrays his attempt to sound convicted. Instead, the anticipation of a touch he isn’t suited to want fills his mind and numbs him to everything else. He’s shamefully hard despite himself and soon Snafu is going to know this too. Not that he hasn’t already guessed but once his hand comes into contact, Burgin is going to have nowhere to hide.

When deft fingers brush his length, his instinct is to tense up but the small gasp Snafu makes against him has him melting enough to lean back, just the tiniest amount, to allow Snafu more room to move. Snafu accepts it with the eagerness of a pup being allowed to play, hand delving deeper and massaging him through his underwear. 

You should stop this. You should stop this. He wants this too much. It’s more to him than getting off. The thoughts reel around in his head but Burgin starts to lose himself in the building pressure as Snafu starts to stroke him and even through the material, his touch ignites him and makes his eyes fall heavy and his lips part around a moan he cannot let escape.

When Snafu’s hand moves away, it’s enough of a disappointment that Burgin fights the immediate urge to whine at the loss. He’s sure Snafu would appreciate it if he did but he can’t, he refuses. Fingers trail up to his navel and he tenses at the tickle but then Snafu’s touch is creeping back down, slipping beneath his underwear and trailing back to their original place. Burgin lets out the moan before he can think to stop it.

“That’s it.” Snafu’s smile returns against his ear. “Lemme make ya feel good, Burgie.” His hand wraps around Burgin and strokes him firmly. Burgin huffs again, bracing his hands on the bunk behind him, tilting him back and pushing his hips up a little further. 

They’ve got this far, it’s already too late not to finish, his mind reasons and it slides down his throat and settles in him like poison but his muscles have become lead and he couldn’t move from here if he wanted to at this point.

He can feel Snafu shifting next to him and when he dares a glance, he can see his free hand, working himself through his dungarees and he gasps. Snafu is touching himself while getting him off too! He feels his face burn with the shame of finding that hot and part of him wants to tell him off, like a naughty teen caught jerking off in his room but that certainly ain’t Burgin’s place in all of this. He’s not sure what his place is anymore.

Snafu releases a soft moan on his ear and it runs through Burgin, right down into his core, leaving him breathless. 

“Snafu.” Burgin breathes. He senses Snafu slow his hand and wonders for a moment if Snafu thinks he’s going to call him out on touching himself. He relaxes again when Burgin doesn’t, picks up the movement of the hand on his cock and goes back to stroking himself in time.

Burgin starts to feel light headed with it all and his moans come more frequently. Snafu starts to pant next to him and it only spurs him on more. He starts to spasm lightly as he nears his end and Snafu must pick up on it.

“Come on.” Snafu moans out between ragged breaths, his hand still working himself through his clothes. “Just let go, Burgie. Enjoy it,”

Snafu’s hand grips him tighter and all it takes is one swipe of the pad of his thumb across the head of his cock and it undoes him. His vision wavers and he screws his eyes shut, grits his teeth and tenses hard. His cock pulses in Snafu’s hand, spilling against his stomach but Burgie can’t even bring himself to feel gross about that just yet. 

When he’s alert again, Snafu has stopped touching himself. Burgin doesn’t know if he came too or not and he ain’t about to ask. He leans forward with an uncomfortable grunt.

“Get yourself to bed, Snafu.” He orders, unable to look at him directly. “If we gonna have any chance of sleepin’ off the booze before roll call.” 

Snafu doesn’t move for a few seconds. Burgie can feel the confusion the disappointment, exactly what he feared from this. The whole reason this was a fucking bad idea. Burgie gets up and winces at the feel of his cooling fluid dripping down into his underwear. He trudges out of the tent on wobbly legs, not bringing himself to look back at his drunken comrade.

This absolutely can not happen again, he scolds himself. It really can’t.


End file.
